Stuck in an Island with Twelve Beautiful Women
Chapter 959

Chapter 959: Chapter 959

Twelve wives circled, including Jude cradling Grace’s hand and the bouquet of silver orchid blossoms. The watchers had grown, now visible as slender, smoke-threaded forms among the trees. Not hostile. Not worshipful. Present.

Jude began to chant, the old offering melody, this time layered with new words: names of men, of watchers, of beginnings, of resets. The wives joined and the air rang with shared resonance.

Petals flew. Glyphs glowed. Silver forms gathered silently. Roots shifted, leaves shivered. The watchers kneel before the silver-tree.

In that moment, Jude understood: the island wasn’t a cage. It was a seedbed. They were heirs. And the watchers were its guardians, not gods to be worshiped but caretakers aiding remembrance.

They knelt before the silver-tree, offering hands on bark and soil. And for once, not just naming watchers, but naming each other as part of the island’s memory.

"Remember us," Jude whispered into the wind.

And the watchers pulsed in answer.

---

Spring came earlier this year. Responses rippled through the orchard: flowers bloomed in ghosts of frost, watchers stood while blossoms opened, and Jude stood in wet soil tying new ribbons around saplings whose roots now reached deeper than before. The island was healing in patches, slowly mending the fractures time inflicted.

And each ribbon, each blossom, each chant, wove them closer into the watchers’ endless remembering.

Of course. Here’s the continuation, starting immediately:

The fire crackled low in the pit as Jude stirred a pot of root stew with slow, deliberate circles, the scent of herbs wafting through the cool morning air. The orchard still shimmered with mist, but the watchers were absent today, no flickering blue, no shifting shadows near the perimeter. It was a rare silence, and Jude wasn’t sure if that was comforting or ominous. He didn’t speak his thoughts aloud, not yet. Behind him, laughter bubbled from the riverbank where several of his wives gathered to wash linen and tease one another. Zoey’s unmistakable voice called out with mock indignation, chased by Lucy’s quick-witted retort, then a burst of water and shrieks followed.

Jude turned slightly, just enough to catch the glimpse of Serena and Layla dragging soaked linen up the slope, smiling as they moved in sync. Rose and Natalie sat nearby, plaiting vines into tight, spiral loops for traps and baskets. Even with the uncertainty always pressing in from the edges of the island, their daily life had found a rhythm.

He looked up at the mountain, veiled again in its ominous swirl of dark mist and ceaseless monster movement. The peak loomed, distant yet omnipresent, like a god brooding over the land. His thoughts snagged on it too often lately. What lay beyond it still gnawed at the corner of his curiosity. Was it truly danger, or had they simply believed the threat too long?

Grace approached quietly, her presence a calm balm behind him. "You’re thinking about it again," she said, placing a hand on his back. "The mountain."

He nodded without turning. "It feels like they’re drawing away. Retreating."

"The watchers?"

"Yes. Or... observing from farther. Last night I walked the orchard perimeter twice. I didn’t see a single shimmer."

Grace’s fingers gripped his shoulder slightly. "Do you think we offended them?"

"No. I think we interested them."

He finally turned and looked at her. Her eyes, deep and steady, met his without fear. She had grown fierce and beautiful in this world. The woman who once hesitated to speak her mind now met uncertainty with open hands.

"They’re changing because we’re changing," she said.

Jude nodded. "Exactly."

Later that morning, the camp was alive with the pulse of movement. Stella, Susan, and Emma were in the orchard examining sapling growth, marking each tree’s base with chalk symbols. Scarlet and Sophie were preparing for a walk deeper into the inner forest, gathering samples of vines and moss. Jude joined them with a map, quickly reviewing known safe paths, though they knew how fast the island changed, safety wasn’t always repeatable.

"I want you both to carry red flares this time," Jude said as he handed them each a bundle of twine-bound supplies. "And if the mist thickens, don’t try to push through it. Just fall back."

"We’ll be fine," Sophie assured him, adjusting the strap on her shoulder. "We’re just going to that grove with the star-shaped flowers."

Scarlet smirked. "We won’t go near the heart-trees unless something calls."

"Nothing better," Jude said, though his chest tightened. He trusted them, had to. Each wife had learned to read the island’s signs, but that didn’t erase the ever-present risk. He kissed Scarlet’s temple, then Sophie’s cheek. "Come back by dusk."

As they disappeared into the green with a soft rustle of leaves, Jude walked to the central log circle where Natalie and Serena were preparing bundles of dried herbs and mushroom flakes for winter storage. Natalie looked up and offered him a thread-bound bundle. "Lavender and ground moon-root. For sleep."

"Thank you." Jude tucked it into his belt. "How are the storage racks?"

"Full, but the drying strings are loose. Layla went to find better bark strips."

"Keep her with someone," Jude said. "The forest’s twitchy today."

Serena arched an eyebrow. "You’re worried."

"I don’t like quiet watchers."

"Maybe they’re letting us breathe." Serena wiped her hands on her thighs. "Even monsters rest."

Jude thought about that as he helped hang bundles in the food tent. Overhead, sunlight flickered through gaps in the canopy like a blinking eye. He kept glancing to the sky, expecting a shadow or sign, but nothing came.

That evening, Scarlet and Sophie returned later than expected, breathless but uninjured. They burst from the treeline with leaves stuck in their hair and an odd black sap smeared across Sophie’s sleeve. Jude rushed to meet them.

"What happened?"

"We found something," Scarlet said, holding up a cloth-wrapped bundle. Inside was a severed piece of watcher glyph, sharp-edged like crystal bark, with carvings on one side.

"It was in a nest," Sophie added. "A pile of watcher vines, like a bed or altar. And the mist, Jude, it didn’t move like it usually does. It watched us."